


Reciprocity

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Skyfall, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape Recovery, elements of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I received the following prompt in my tenpointsforq tumblr inbox months ago and I decided to turn it into a full length fic. </p>
<p>"Hello! I was wondering if you would write a scenario where Bond gets captured by someone (Silva perhaps?), and the only way to rescue him is for Q to sleep with him. Q was treated roughly (slapping, spanking, cutting, bruising etc) and ends up hospitalised. When Bond is released, James has one more person to feel guilty about."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reintroductions

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Dalekfighter1190 and Jen(consultingwriters) for their beta efforts and britpicks!

It had taken every ounce of courage that Q had to walk up the well-known stairs to James Bond’s flat. He had stood outside on the street for forty five minutes. It wasn’t until the bells of the church down the street began to ring loudly, ushering in the 6pm service, that Q was able to usher himself forward, into the entrance of the building. It had been two months since he had stared at the lush carpeting now beneath his feet, sixty days since he ran a hand over the chrome doorknob outside of 007’s flat and let himself in- the metal of the knob calibrated to know his handprint. Everyone- including M- thought that the flat had been sold. But Q hadn’t been able to get rid of the place. It held too many memories; too many nights that he and Bond had spent together. 

Bond was ready with a gun pointed at Q as he walked in the door. This had been expected, Q didn’t even wince. He had had plenty of guns pointed his way in his lifetime, and the only person that he knew would never pull the trigger was James. If anything, it was almost a comforting sight- Q recognized immediately that the gun was the new Walther PPK, given to Bond only hours earlier. 

“I’m sorry.” Bond said, lowering the weapon. “Truly, I am sorry for everything.” 

“I’ve missed you.” Q said, which didn’t even begin to cover the devastation of the last few months. “Terribly.”

Bond closed the gap between them. “I hated being away from you every single solitary second of every single day.” He said, voice low. “I regret it in ways that I can’t even desribe.”

“Promise me.” Q said, staring up into the ice blue eyes of the man that he loved. “Promise me that you will never do that again.”

There was a momentary hesitation, a weighing of what Q was really asking. 

“I promise.” 

It was after midnight when Bond shifted slightly, his legs untangling from the sheets. Q’s body was sprawled out on his stomach beside him- bare chest pressed against the mattress while his head was buried into a feather pillow. He looked down at the lithe body next to him, and ran his fingers through the dark, curling hair atop Q’s head. 

“What time is my flight tomorrow?” Bond asked quietly, easing himself up onto his elbow. His other hand remained in Q’s hair, brushing it away from the younger man’s face as Q’s eyes looked up at him. 

“It’s your flight, shouldn’t you know when time it departs?” Q mumbled, shifting to press his head against Bond’s hand. 

“But you’re my Quartermaster- that’s why I keep you around.” Bond grinned, leaning forward to trace gentle kisses into the skin on Q’s shoulder. He made a trail towards Q’s neck, stuttering in his movements only when Q turned onto his side and slid his long fingers down Bond’s chest. The movement stuttered ever so slightly as his hand slipped under the waistband of Bond’s pyjama pants. 

“That’s why, is it James?” Q smiled cheekily, then turning nip at Bond’s earlobe. “And here I thought there was some genuine affection underneath all of the sex and fancy gadgets.” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Bond murmured, tucking one arm under Q’s torso and rolling him so that the narrow-bodied boy was settled across his muscular thighs. Q laughed softly, eyes cast downwards to peer through long lashes. He flashed Bond a smile that was completely intimate- shared only in moments when sheer perfection stretched between them. 

“Your flight leaves at 9:15.” Q murmured, twitching his fingers around Bond’s cock, causing the blond to groan softly. His erection was pressed tight against the apex of Q’s thighs.

“Then we have plenty of time.” Bond grinned, shifting to press his cock against the rapidly hardening erection tenting Q’s pyjama bottoms. With deft fingers, Bond pulled at the waist of Q’s flannel trousers and grasped at the thinner man’s erection. Running his thumb over the velvet softness of Q’s hardened cock pressing under the frenulum and running his fingers downwards towards the base of the shaft- Bond watched as Q’s body tensed and then slowly began to unravel with the rapid movement of his fist.

“You’re a fucking sight.” Bond moaned, shifting so that their cocks were pressed together, and he was encircling them both with his fist. 

“James I-” Q trailed off, glancing upwards towards the ceiling before letting this eyelids flutter shut. He groaned loudly, tensing his thighs around Bond’s body. Quickly, Bond released both of their erections and reached into the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms. He slicked his fingers down and ran them behind Q’s balls and at the swirl of his arse. With increased pressure, he slipped his fingers inside of Q, opening him up thoroughly. He had only just withdrawn his fingers- dragging slowly against Q’s insides as he did- when the brunette lifted himself over Bond’s erection and reached for a condom, rolling it downwards over Bond’s cock before he sank himself slowly downwards, stopping only when he was flush against Bond’s hips. He then rocked himself forward experimentally as Bond began to thrust upwards, pitching both of their bodies together deeply. 

They orgasmed quickly, in unison, and settled into one another as they panted. Q pressed a long, lingering kiss onto Bond’s lips and whimpered as Bond withdrew himself slowly. Then, curled tightly together-Q tucked into the strength of Bond’s arms- they drifted off to sleep. 

 

Q was gone before Bond woke up the next morning. With a deep sigh, Bond pulled himself out of bed and stumbled towards his shower. He let the water run in scalding rivulets down his scarred and war torn back. 

Twenty minutes later he stepped into the kitchen with a towel wrapped firmly around his waist. His flat was all dark marbles and glossy woods- the sort of luxury living that was maintained only through steadfast absenteeism. There wasn’t a scratch on his glass end tables or a stain on his maroon-colored suede couches. Bond activated his Nespresso machine and went back to his bedroom, stopping when he noticed a white envelope on a table in the hall. It was addressed to 007 in the neat scrawl that was undoubtedly Q’s. He continued past and walked dutifully to his closet to put on a sleek charcoal colored suit. When he returned to the hall- fully dressed and carrying a leather suitcase- he picked up the envelope and tore it open. 

Inside was his passport, the name of his hotel accommodations, and an even smaller envelope addressed to him by name, not his moniker. This smaller envelope he tucked into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He grabbed his coffee and cast a final glance around his apartment before closing and locking the door behind him. Seven floors below, an MI6 car was waiting to take him to the airport. 

The next few days went by quickly- He waited for Patrice to arrive in Hong Kong before tracking him, killing him, and following the casino chip bread crumb to Macau. He had appreciated the help of the MI6 woman who had nearly killed him (although out of precaution he kept her at quite a distance. Q was probably livid that she had been sent to Bond), but he was quick to fall into the trust of Severine, who promised to lead him closer to the core of the hard drive’s current location. 

 

_James,_  
As always, I’ll be the one in your ear the entire time you are in Macau. Worry about nothing but getting yourself back to London safely. I’ll take care of the rest.   
Yours, Q. 

Bond tucked the note back into his inner suit pocket and stared out at the island growing in the distance. Next to him Sevrine stood, fear gradually taking over the features of her face. Next to the note, the small radio was already activated, sending his signal out to Q’s personal computer. There was a small part of Bond that was hesitant to use the gadget. Q would see the pings and go halfway out of his mind in an attempt to bring Bond back, and the thought of causing that height of alarm in his Quartermaster was wrenching. But, as the men on the ship began to draw their weapons and stare at Bond, he knew that he was potentially in over his head. 

Not even an hour later, with his hands tied to a chair in a cavernous room filled with the spilled out guts of computers and mechanics, Bond watched an elevator descend from above. The man who emerged, speaking with a calm that nearly bordered on psychosis. 

“Hello James- welcome. Do you like the island?” The blonde grinned, stepping forward. “My grandmother had an island…”

Bond listened as the man prattled on about rats caught in an oil drum- creatures starved and made desperate by their situations, killing and eating one another to survive. 

“But you see, sometimes a rat escapes the trap, and great lengths have to be taken to get him back.” Silva grinned, sitting in front of Bond. “Imagine my glee when MI6 sent their most reliable agent to Turkey. I could have snatched you then, but the world wasn’t watching. Not yet. And so I let you throw your little temper tantrum in the tropics and waited for the opportune moment to pull you back in.”

“How could you possibly have known I’d go back to London?” Bond asked, shifting in his chair. He had such little patience for the ramblings of madmen and spies alike.   
“Well of course you would want to know whether your little Q had made it through the explosion, wouldn’t you? How could you have known from that hot little island that I had hacked his schedule and put him elsewhere in the city?”

“What could you care about a Q-branch tech?” Bond felt panic rising in his chest, although he did his level best not to show it on his face. At the time of his ‘death’ in Turkey, he had been in a relationship with Q. At the time, he had been known as R- both a cover for his full name, which Bond was always careful never to utter except in their most private moments. Of course, his three month disappearance had effectively ended the relationship. When Bond returned to London, desperate to see if Q was alright, he had been greeted with a cold shoulder. It wasn’t until after their meeting in the National Gallery- after their witty exchange and a sidelong glance that spoke volumes for each of them- that they began to put the pieces back together as quickly as they could. When Q turned up at the flat that Bond was re-issued by MI6, the agent was relieved and more than a little surprised. But they fell back together easier than breathing. 

“I care nothing for a lowly tech, unless he was once one of my own.” The blonde grinned, stroking the insides of Bond’s thighs. “Your Q has some indiscretions in his past, you see, and the two of us have unfinished business to attend to. We are the last rats, Q and I, from a life that he has tried desperately to leave behind. But I do not allow myself to be forgotten so easily.”

“You’ll never get to him.” Bond said evenly, despite the pure hatred rising in his gut. “He’s too well protected now.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Bond.” The man grinned. “I have managed to trap the perfect bait. It’s such a risky business, falling in love when you have a license to kill. I’m afraid he’ll be along soon enough.” And with that, he reached forward and slid his hand into Bond’s pocket. He pulled out the radio, held it up to Bond, and slid it into his own pocket. 

“There. I daresay he’ll find me with relative ease now.” He looked up at the two men guarding the door behind Bond. “Take him to a cell. Make sure he stays there.”


	2. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q learns who has captured Bond. Meanwhile, the past rises to meet Q and Bond both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extraordinary, endless thanks to Dalekfighter1190, who suffered through hours of my writers block to help me get this chapter stitched together. Truly, she has the patience and kindness of a saint!

“Agent 007’s distress signal has been engaged.” R reported, telling Q what he already knew. There was a small tablet on his desk expressly tasked with the job of tracking Bond’s radio, despite the fact that it had not been engaged until exactly thirty-seven seconds beforehand. 

As the signal was traced, Q began to feel the anxiety in his stomach knot even more tightly. Something wasn’t right. Bond rarely called for an extraction team without being in dire need, particularly when the assignment hadn’t yet been completed. When Q was still working under Geoffrey Boothroyd, he had watched the agent’s heart damn near stop multiple times, and the agent rarely pinged MI6 in distress. A quick check to the tablet revealed that Bond’s heart and pulse were perfectly normal, although slightly elevated. 

It was moments like these when Q felt the stress and dread of the lover take over his calculated professionalism. There was a deep need that pooled in his gut, a desire to go out and pull James away from danger, to tuck him into their bed and hold him there, tight against his skin. With every pulse of the monitor, Q was overcome with the compulsion to feel Bond’s skin on his, to trace the scars that he could read expertly with the tips of his fingers. 

With a deep, steadying breath, Q closed his eyes and counted down from thirty. As the digits slipped backwards through his mind, he felt the beating of his heart slow down; the prickling irritation and panic that lingered low in his body eased as his personal feelings ebbed away. In slow, calculated moments, his facade of tempered professionalism reappeared. 

Ten minutes later, Q was still working on finding an exact location for the extraction team. The signal was coming from the waters off of the Nagasaki peninsula, one of the small unpopulated islands off of the southern coast of Japan. Just as Q was zooming in on the exact coordinates that he needed, the backlight of his laptop flickered. A name suddenly appeared on his computer screen. The letters emerged in bright green text from a blackened field, Q felt his hands go cold. Immediately, he disconnected his computer from the broadcast screen that could be seen from the entirety of Q-branch. His techs barely looked up from their own screens as his name faded into the black background, and new words appeared with a photo of Bond, tied to a chair. The name was plenty familiar; it was Q’s own, from a lifetime that seemed very far away. There were three people in the world that knew Q’s real name. M, Bond, and a man that Q had tried desperately to leave behind years ago; Raul Silva. 

_My darling, it is time for you to come home. Bring yourself to me in the next 32 hours, and I will let your agent go unharmed. If you do not come, or if anyone besides yourself comes, he will be killed immediately._

Q ran his fingers through his carefully tousled curls and stared at the screen, which had returned to the programs that Q had been working in. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and began to type. After a few careful minutes, the distress signal from Bond disappeared from the screen. 

“We’ve lost the signal.” R looked up at Q, her eyes fearful. Glancing away from his second in command, Q typed for a few more moments. He held his breath as the signal reappeared, and he glanced over to see R’s face break out into relief. 

“Wait, we’ve recovered it. Agent 007 is in Tsushima.” 

“Order a full and immediate evacuation team.” Q said, curling his fingers into fists as he shoved them into his pockets. “I want a medical team on hand as well.” 

R nodded and left the room, going to authorize the evacuation team’s departure. After she disappeared Q took a minute to look around Q Branch. It was a dream come true, being the Quartermaster and head of the branch. He was grateful to M for giving him a change, and for Major Boothroyd for seeing past his speckled past to give him the opportunity to be a part of the MI6 operation. 

“Right then, I’m getting tea.” Q said loudly, locking his computer behind multiple firewalls and passcodes. He shut the laptop, tucked it into a drawer, and took out his phone to send one final note to R. He then walked through Q Branch and up to the evacuation bay, ducking into a storage room just long enough to avoid R as she made her way back to the branch. From among the shelves of paper and odds and ends, Q heard one of the helicopters being prepared for takeoff. He waited until it sounded well and truly gone before emerging and walking into the hangar. One of the pilots walked over to him, wearing the ill-at-ease look that Q so often received since his promotion to Q. 

“I need to be taken to the East China Sea. To these coordinates.” Q rattled off a series of numbers and the man wrote it down quickly before pausing to glance at Q.

“Is there an evacuation order?” He asked. “On whose authority is this trip being-”

“On my authority.” Q interrupted, giving the man a piercing look “If you’re looking for an authority higher than mine, then I’ll be forced to bring M herself over here, and I doubt she would appreciate being bothered by anything as mundane as an evacuation order.”

“I’m- I’m sorry sir it’s just-”

“If you had a higher clearance you would be told more. But for the moment I believe just the coordinates will do. Do I need to get M?” Q held up his phone, and the pilot faltered.

“No sir. My apologies.” He nodded demurely and spun on his heel, walking purposely towards one of the specially engineered aircrafts designed for long-term flight. Q took a deep breath, attempting to dispel the nausea that rode through his body in a wave at the sight of the aircraft. When the pilot waved him over, Q began to walk dutifully towards the craft. Just before he boarded, he placed his cellphone on a stray counter laden with headsets. When Q picked up a headset but not his phone, the pilot didn’t notice. 

After they had settled into the helicraft- the pilot in the cockpit and Q on the seat in the back- the pilot turned on his microphone. It connected to Q’s earpieces. 

“Where exactly are we going?” The pilot asked. 

“Gunkanjima. An island in the Nagasaki Prefecture.” Q replied, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as the craft began to lift off the ground. He knew that as they rose into the air, the ceiling of the hangar would give way to let them out into the open skies. There was no part of him that wanted to see this happen. They would ride in the helicopter until they reached the British military aircraft carrier that kept MI6 planes on standby. That would take an hour. Q would then board a small, private plane outfitted for medical evacuations. A few quick calculations in his head timed the travel at 28 hours- just barely underneath Silva’s limit, and that was without fuel stops and changing aircrafts. 

“Please, please let me make it in time.” Q murmured, clasping his hands and bowing his head. He wasn’t the praying type- but he needed to hope for something, particularly since he knew who was waiting for him on the other end of his very long journey. The very thought of those years he spent burrowed away from the world, at the beck and call of the eloquent blond who had nothing but revenge in his heart, sent a shudder through Q's body. He had been a pet, nothing else. The cruelty of Raul Silva was that for every moment that Q spent behind a computer screen being clever he had to pay for it by providing Silva with pleasure. The roaming touches of those cold, greedy fingers had been Q's punishment for being too talented for Silva to teach. As Q had been reminded endlessly, there was no use making Q a protege, an equal, as there wasn't anything that Silva could truly teach him. Instead, Q's body had been reward for Silva for providing Q with the opportunity to take down governments and egos around the world. And Q was expected to be grateful. After all, where else would Q's particular talent for technological destruction be appreciated? 

 

It was cold that night- the frigid air settling in against the stone walls. Bond was curled up in the corner farthest from the window, arms wrapped around himself. Outside he could see the crisp outline of the scattered clouds, colored a deep purple against the inky sky. It couldn’t have been more than 4 degrees, but it was hard to tell with the howling wind pressing through the cracks in the cement walls.. If it were any colder, the water dripping from the pipe outside the door would be frozen. In a way, Bond wished for the water to freeze- sound repetition had always been the form of torture for him that was most effective. Monotony drove him to the edge much more quickly than pain ever could. This was a wish best ungranted, however, since Bond knew logically that vasoconstriction was already setting in to protect his core from the near-freezing temperatures, but it probably wouldn’t progress much farther than that. It was just bound to be an incredibly uncomfortable evening. 

With a quiet sigh, Bond tucked his body even more tightly into itself and tried to sleep. It was hard to believe that only the evening before he had been curled up in bed next to Q, running his calloused fingers over his Quartermaster’s warm skin. He hoped that Q was okay- he didn't like the thought of his captor taking such a vested interest in the Quartermaster. More than that, actually- the thought that Q was in his captor’s crosshairs terrified Bond to his absolute core. 

It had been true that Bond had fled back to England to see if Q was okay. Sure, he had turned up in M’s flat eventually, but that was only after he had spent the day trailing all of Q’s favorite haunts. He was looking for some sign of life, and Bond had no way of knowing that the moment that MI6 had gone up in smoke that Q had been whisked underground and set up to replace the suddenly deceased Geoffrey Boothroyd. By the time Bond regained access to MI6, Q had already been informed that Agent 007 had turned back up, and the Quartermaster was livid- for a little while, at least. 

“You were fucking dead. For two months, you were _dead_!” Q spat, staring levelly at Bond in the tiny brick hallway so many miles underground. 

“Q, I’m so-”

“I don’t want to hear a word that you have to say for yourself.” Q’s voice was the angriest that Bond had ever heard it; deeper than was typical with an edge that seemed fatally dangerous. 

“Just give me a moment to explain what-” 

Once again, Q cut him off. 

“No Bond. You decided that you were going to die. You walked away from your country, from MI6, from _me_. As far as I’m concerned, you can go ahead and stay dead.” THere was a hardness in Q’s eyes that Bond was not familiar with.

“I couldn’t come back, Q.” Bond murmured, his voice pleading. “You need to understand that, I couldn’t come back.” 

Q took a step back and shook his head, unspeakable hurt written into every line of his face. 

“That’s just the thing, James.” Q said softly. “You never even considered that I’d want to go to you. That I would have dropped everything to be by your side.” A short silence stretched between them, creating a space that grew wider and wider. Finally, Q sighed. 

“Goodbye, 007.” He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, disappearing into the shadowy distance. 

Not long afterwards, Bond was pulled into an endless series of physical and psychiatric tests. He thought that the pain in his chest- burning and clawing against skin and bone and muscle- was nothing compared to the stabbing coil of agony that rose from him as he watched Q’s retreating frame, thinking that he would never get to see his Q again.

This fear was confirmed the next day when a well dressed Q met Bond in the National Gallery. It was as if they had never met before- Q passed over Bond’s gun and radio and left. 

That Q would turn up at Bond’s flat a few hours later, ready to forgive Bond, was a symptom of a deep running goodness in the Quartermaster that James Bond could never in his life hope to replicate. If nothing else, Bond was determined to earn it. How, he had no idea. But he would- he promised himself that Q would never have to feel loss because of Bond ever again. Not if the agent could prevent it for even a single moment. 

It was many hours later that Bond finally passed into sleep- his body strained and jetlagged and tense from worry, his body yearning for the warmth of his other while his mind prayed that Q never came within miles of that frigid little island in the middle of the East China Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments always deeply appreciated! (It motivates me to keep writing, honestly.)


	3. Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to DalekFighter1190 for betaing!
> 
> Please note that this fic has a non-con author's warning. This is the chapter where that warning was earned. There is not an explicit rape scene, but there are references to rape and instances of non-consensual actions and sexual abuse. Please be warned.

Shakily, Q stepped off of the helicopter and stumbled through the dusty rubble collected at his feet. Tall buildings, derelict and seemingly empty, rose into the sky around him. 

The helicopter waited behind him, the pilot still seated in the cockpit. Q nodded over his shoulder, and walked further down the street.

"Silva!" Q screamed, listening to his voice echo off of the abandoned cityscape. "Raul Silva!"

"He's sent me to take you to him." A dark haired woman emerged from one of the doorways nearby, moving carefully in a tight burgundy dress. As she approached, she flicked a cigarette aside, allowing it to smolder among the broken bits of cement. "You're to follow me." Her nails were pointed like daggers, and there was something serpentine about the way that she moved.

Hesitantly, Q obliged. He tried to remind that core part of his body that tried to avoid danger that he was turning himself in to Silva, that escaping was not an option if he wanted James to live.

"You've gotten skinnier." Silva murmured when he entered the room, staring at Q intently. He tutted gently and shook his head. "That will not do, Alex."

Q watched Silva's approach. His hands braced against the table behind him so tightly that it felt as if his knuckles would crack from the pressure. The tall blond walked until his body was flush up against Q's, leaning in to hover just above Q’s neck. There was a low chuckle, then Silva pulled back slightly, grasped the hair at the nape of Q’s neck, and turned his face upwards. Silva pressed forward and kissed Q hard on the mouth. 

At first Q's body tensed, repulsed. Then he slowly forced himself to ease into Silva's explorations. When Silva pulled away, Q stared at him evenly.

"There's a helicopter waiting to take Bond back to London." He said. Silva laughed and stepped backwards, leaving a few extra inches between them.

"Straight to business then. My, how things change." 

"I'm here. You can do what you want with me. But Bond goes home." Q said, pulling his body up and tall as he could manage.

"Not yet, my darling." Silva cooed. "First, I need to be sure that you are truly mine again. I need you to prove it to me."

"What else do you want from me?" Q asked, his whole body tensing with hatred. It burned through his veins, pulsating with memories of the damage that Silva had done to him. Heat rose up Q’s body, and he desperately tried to quell the emotions. If Silva didn’t believe that Q was his, Bond would not survive. At that moment, Bond’s survival meant victory. Q didn’t matter anymore. Not, at least, until Bond was out of harm’s way. 

“I want you to remember your place.” Silva smiled, running a hand down Q’s cheek. “Surely the years since you were with me last haven’t completely disappeared from memory, not with how terribly I’ve missed my little pet.” 

Q did not move as Silva’s hand traced the outline of his jaw and then lowered to his neck and collarbone. He didn’t draw breath as Silva moved downwards and found Q’s nipple through his shirt and pinched the delicate skin. 

"Get on your knees." Silva murmured, removing his hands from Q’s body to instead rest at his sides."Let's see which lessons you remember."

Without lowering his eyes, Q sank to his knees. The floor was hard, and there was something grating into the hollow of his right knee. He waited, hands on his thighs, for Silva to move his hands to the buttons at his waist. Instead, the man reached and grabbed a tuft of Q’s hair, pulling him closer. Q cried out softly, 

“Alex, don’t make me tell you what to do.” Silva said, tone filled with warning. “You came back to me, after all.” 

Two days after his capture, Silva went to Bond in the small room where the agent was being held. Bond had been cuffed to a pipe near the window three hours beforehand- after one of the guards had let slip that Q was in Silva’s possession.The steady stream of threats and ensuing racket had resulted in Bond’s confinement, and because of this he could only see Silva by turning his neck to the far right. 

"We've had a visitor." Silva said, looking down at Bond. "Both of the rats are back in the oil drum once again."

"Where is he?" Bond asked, dread pooling deep in the pit of his stomach."If you’ve hurt him, I’ll kill you." He said threateningly, straining to close the distance between himself and his captor as if Bond could somehow kill the man through the proximity of his hatred.

"Oh Mister Bond, what makes you think I am the least bit afraid of you?" Silva laughed loudly, tossing his head back before snapping his fingers. Just then Q was dragged into the doorway, clutched in the arms of an oversized guard. 

"Q-" Bond called out, but stopped when the guard punched the Quartermaster in the lower stomach. Q let out a muffled grunt and bowled over in pain.Silva walked over to force his head upwards- angling Q’s gaze towards Bond.

"Fear has to be earned, you see." Silva said, staring at Q covetously. "It's very much like respect, except it's harder to maintain. But I always manage to pull through in the end." He snapped his fingers again, and Q was drug off. Silva followed behind, slamming the door shut and sliding a bolt into place.

Two days later, Bond was led towards a room that would have been virtually indistinguishable from all of the others, save for the long metal table stretching across the center of it. Through the window pane set into the wooden door, he could see that behind a chair in the middle of the table sat Q, looking disheveled and exhausted.

The guards on either side of Bond nudged him forward, and Q looked up as he was thrust into the room. A stricken look crossed Q's face, as if he had been slapped. Bond said nothing as he was handcuffed to a chair across from his lover. Q shifted, and as he did Bond heard the telltale clinking of Q's own bound wrists, which were linked to a bar under the table in front of him.

Once Bond was secure, they were left on their own. The guards closed the door behind them but did not go far. Their shadows danced across the pane.

"He told me he would let you go." Q said, staring down at his hands. A bruise colored the high contours of his left cheekbone, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He promised."

"Are you hurt?" Bond asked, registering the bruise like a punch to the gut. This and the deep circles under Q's eyes, the uneven red of his cheeks, the clear discomfort and prickling sweat on the younger man's brow told Bond that Q was not being treated well.

"Don't worry about me, James. I'll be okay." Q replied. His eyes flicked away from Bond to stare at a marking on the table.

"Why did you take his bait, Q?" Bond asked desperately. He kept attempting to reach forward, his body blocked from movement by the chains at his wrists. "Why didn't you stay at MI6?"

"I wanted to protect you." Q replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I promised you I would protect you, that I would bring you home."

"Q, I-" The door opened, and Silva slowly walked into the room. He ignored Bond, staring only at Q with a cruel, indulgent smile as he made his way forward. Fury surged in Bond's chest as Silva caressed the bruise on Q's cheekbone and then dipped low to suck on the skin of Q's jaw. Q squeezed his eyes closed. 

"I see you have been catching up." Silva murmured, entwining his fingers into Q's dark curls. "It's always difficult, adjusting to a change in circumstances. I thought this meeting would offer some closure for you."

"Closure in what?" Bond demanded, moving against his cuffs.

"In your...relationship." Silva rolled his tongue over the word, grinning. "You see, now that Q has come back to me, you won't be seeing him anymore."

"He isn't yours to take." Bond snapped, watching Q wince under Silva's attentions.

"Isn't he?" Silva chuckled and glanced at Bond. "Is that because you think that he's yours?" He grabbed Q by a tuft of hair on the back of his neck and pulled upwards, ignoring Q's quiet cries as he was brought to his feet, bent over to accommodate the way his hands were bound to the table. 

Silva kicked the chair out from the table and stood behind Q, running his hands over the brunette's body.

"Perhaps it's time to let Mister Bond in on our little secret, yes love?" Silva murmured, pressing a hand firmly against Q's arse. Bond felt his body tense as Q gave a choked moan in response. "After all, he deserves to know the truth, doesn't he?"

“Please, don’t.” Q rasped, attempting to shift his body away from Silva’s reach. It was useless, of course- Silva's hands dipped to the fly on Q's trousers, and Bond watched as the fabric slowly slid down Q's thighs and to the floor. A second later Q’s pants went with them. At first, Bond was distracted by the purple coloring of Q's skin- hand prints bruised into tissue on his thighs. There were other marks too- angry red welts and the occasional cut that trailed in long, thin lines from the front of the leg towards the inside.

"What did you do to him?" Bond strained harder against his cuffs, but couldn't gain the traction he needed to break himself free. 

"Temper, Mister Bond." Silva's grin never faltered. He reached downward, back between Q's legs and buttocks. Q gave a cry as Silva's arm made a jerking movement. As his hand pulled away from Q's tense, panting body Bond saw something small and black in Silva's hand. The man set it down on the table, and Bond could see that it was a rather sizeable plug, slick from use.

"I like to keep him ready for me, you see." Silva said, reaching upwards to pat Q's hair again. A small trickle of tears trailed down Q's cheek. "You never know when the mood will strike."

He snapped his fingers then, and the two guards re-entered the room. Both looked past Q as if he were nothing, and instead focused their attention on Silva. 

“Send him back to London.” Silva said, gesturing to Bond. “Then prepare to leave. We’re going to be relocating.” The men grabbed at Bond, and the agent was roused violently to his feet before being drug off, kicking and fighting as he went.

“Q- I’m going to come back for you. Q!” Bond called out to his Quartermaster, who was still staring resolutely at the table in front of him. 

The only comfort that Bond had was the small flicker of relief that crossed Q’s face before he was pulled into the hallway and away from the man that he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying this series, please leave comments/kudos! It lets me know people are still reading!


End file.
